Psychedelic Reflections
by themusicalcat
Summary: Feliciano Vargas has been having strange hallucinations of a man who looks just like himself, but isn't. Upon seeing these things, he can't help but question why he's seeing them and if there is a secret that has been kept from them all.
1. Chapter 1

Italy Veneziano sat up and stretched. "That was such a nice nap, ve!" he yawned as he stood. He looked at the clock on his nightstand to check the time. 6:45 AM. He cocked his head to the side as he tried to remember what time he had gone to bed to wake up so early… Wasn't it 2:00 PM yesterday? No, that couldn't be right, he thought. He did like sleeping, but he had just lain down for a nap. There was no way he slept for nearly seventeen hours straight! Although, now that he thought about it, he didn't actually sleep very well. He recalled waking up several times in fear of...what? "Surely just bad dreams," he said to himself, "but why don't I remember? Oh well, I'll just forget about this and go make pasta!"

He skipped to the bathroom to wash his hands, but he ran into the wall a couple of times due to his tiredness. After a few tries, he managed to get inside the small bathroom and he scrubbed his hands, splashing some cold water on his face to wake himself up. As he toweled his hands off, he checked himself in the mirror. His hair was ruffled from sleep, but other than that- wait, why were his eyes pinkish purple? He blinked and his eyes were their normal amber color. He blinked again, deciding that he must have imagined it, and hung the fluffy white towel back on the shiny towel rack. Feeling much more awake than just moments before, he skipped out of the room, down the hall and to the kitchen.

Feliciano made a small exclamation of disappointment and shock when he saw that the handle on the pasta maker had been broken off. "Who would do such a thing?!" he cried. "What am I going to make for dinner now?" He realized he was starting to hyperventilate and decided he should eat breakfast before worrying about anything else.

He opened the refrigerator door in search of something to eat. Eggs, no, lettuce, no, frittata, no, tiramisu? Why not? He pulled the dish containing the tiramisu out of the fridge. As he grabbed a fork, he didn't look at it, but if he had, he would have seen a brown reflection, despite nothing in the room being brown.

=^w^=

About an hour later, everyone's favorite-not favorite South Italian stomped into the kitchen, muttering unintelligibly but angrily. Veneziano caught "Spain" and "tomatoes". "Ve? What's wrong-" he paused to yawn, "fratellone?"

Rather than answering, the older brother shot the younger a glare. To his brother's bafflement, he snapped, "Everything is wrong! Starting with you fucking kicking me off the bed in the middle of the night!"

"I did that? I'm so sorry!"

"Hmph... And then I went to my own room and Spain was in there, stroking my tomato pillows!" He was about as red with rage as his beloved tomatoes. "Who the hell does that?!"

"Um...other than you and Spain?"

"Shut up! I never asked for your opinion!" Romano's face became even redder, if that was possible.

"Well, actually, you did ask a question!" The thought hovered in the back of his mind, _why did I say that? _However, something inside him was ticked off at the lack of sleep and just wanted to strike out at someone, somehow. "Would you prefer if I wouldn't talk to you at all?!"

"How about yes? 'Veee, pasta this, Germany that! Oh, help me, Doitsu, I forgot how to tie my shoes!' It's fucking driving me insane!" Romano retorted.

"Excuse me, you daydream about Spain 24/7 and I'm not allowed to talk to Germany? Get out! I'm done with you!"

Shock briefly flashed across the older brother's face, before being replaced by anger, "You know what, I never liked you anyway!" he shouted as he turned on his heel and stalked out. Mere seconds later, the sound of the front door slamming echoed throughout the house.

Veneziano smirked briefly, having won an argument for the first time, but then the realization of what just happened washed over him. _What have I done?... _He rushed to the window with the intention of calling his brother back and apologizing, but he caught his reflection in the glass; it was hard to see, since by now it was daytime and the sun shone brightly, but something was not right… When did he put on a hat? He raised his hand to his head and felt nothing but hair.

=^w^=

"Germany?"

"Ja, Italien?" Germany's voice came from the phone Italy held.

"Germany… I…" Italy struggled to keep himself from sobbing.

"Vhat's bothering you, Italy?" Concern touched the German's voice.

"I…" He couldn't tell his friend that something was wrong with his reflection; the German would never be able to take him anything close to seriously ever again. "I had a fight with my brother and then he yelled and left and said he hated me and I don't know what to do!" By the end of this, Italy was wailing. "What should I do, Germany?"

"Calm down, Italy… Do you vant me to come over there?" Germany asked.

"Si… Per favore!" Germany would fix everything. Surely he would. He was Germany, surely he knew what to do. Italy wasn't sure how his friend would fix anything, but the thought comforted him, so he kept it. He realized that Germany had hung up and would be on his way. When he brushed his hand against his face and it came away wet, he decided he should go wash his face and pull himself together before Germany arrived. He plodded to the nearest bathroom and grabbed a washcloth, turning the faucet on to wet it. After scrubbing his face, he laid the cloth down and examined his reflection. He blinked, and it changed; pinkish-purple eyes, a brown uniform, a small hat, and a devilish grin on a person that at once looked exactly like him and exactly the opposite. Aside from looking like him, the figure looked strangely familiar, but he couldn't put a finger on it.

Without warning, the person in the mirror started moving on its own, pulling out… A knife?! Italy panicked and swung his fist at the mirror to be rewarded with a shatter and glass raining down. He blinked rapidly, feeling a throbbing in his hand and looking at it to see scraped, bloody knuckles. Suddenly lightheaded, he thought he heard a voice, almost like his own, whisper, "Grazie e addio, bastardo!" As he blacked out, he heard a sound like a door slamming.

* * *

><p><em>AN: After spending a while on this, I'm finally done with the first chapter... I hope you like it! Review, favorite and follow if you did, per favore! I'm going to try to also finish another chapter or two of different stories this week, so keep an eye out for those if you're interested. By the way, would anyone like or dislike if I used my OC Sicily in this or in another story? Let me know what you think, and arrivederci until next time!_


	2. Chapter 2

When Germany arrived, he was surprised to find the front door ajar. "Italy?" he called, wondering if he had been waiting at the door.

No answer.

"Italy?" Germany shouted again. _Why isn't he answering?_

When he still didn't get an answer, he became worried and pushed the door open. _I hope he didn't do something stupid... _Entering and closing the door behind him, he decided to look for the Italian to make sure he was alright.

As he walked down a hallway, instinct made him turn and look inside, and his breath caught in his chest. His little Italian friend was crumpled on the floor, surrounded by broken glass, cut and bloody.

"Feliciano…" he whispered, kneeling beside him. Feeling for a pulse, he sighed with relief, "He's still alive…"

"Oh, what a good thing you showed up! We wouldn't want your PATHETIC little friend to die alone, now, would we?"

Germany spun around to find the source of the voice blocking the doorway. He found himself staring into the face of the man Italy had been seeing in his reflection - not that he knew that part. Grinning maliciously, the strange Italian idly twirled a knife between his fingers while studying the taller man, much like a cat staring down a mouse.

"Who are you?" Germany asked, puzzled by this strange man who looked very similar to the one passed out on the floor.

"Don't you remember me? I'm Italy Veneziano," he smirked.

=^w^=

"What? Your brother kicked you out of your own house?" Spain's face showed his complete and utter confusion. "Italy? Kicked you out?"

"Shut up, Spain… I'm not in the mood for you to be all fucking perplexed at me," Romano complained. His complaining was inevitable, even though he was the one who showed up at Spain's house.

"Well, Romatoma, you can stay with me until you get un-kicked out of your house! Just like when you were little!" Spain smiled.

Romano opened his mouth to refuse, and quite rudely at that, but as he wasn't a complete idiot, he realized he had no better options. "I… I guess so. I'll just go back home and grab some stuff first."

=^w^=

After Romano snuck into his house via the back door and gone to his room to get a few things, he took a look out the window. _First fratello was acting weird, and now he starts dressing weird? Fuck it all, has he lost it?_

As his brother clearly wasn't in the house if he was outside, Romano decided to leave through the front door since it was a shorter walk. However, as he walked to it….

"CHIGIIIIIII?! WHY THE HELL IS THAT FUCKING GERMAN TAKING A NAP IN THE HALLWAY?!"

Romano backed away, just in case his shouting woke the "potato bastard", as Roma called him, but he didn't even twitch. Odd. Now that he noticed it, there was a red stain on the floor that looked awfully similar to… Blood. Germany's or Italy's? Should he even care? He hated them both, didn't he? Growing paranoid, he looked into all the nearby rooms, anywhere a hitman could be hiding. He was even more shocked than Germany was to find his brother in the state he was in.

"Ch-che?! Wh-what the FUCK happened here?! Did they both go mad and try to kill each other? Oh, fuck my life! Who was that other guy? Are there TWO Venezianos? Oh, damn it! Who broke the mirror? Vene should KNOW that's bad luck…" Realizing he was rambling, Romano clamped his mouth shut and kneeled next to his brother. "Fratello...you're an idiot...but you can't just die like this!" Lowering his voice, he whispered, "I'm sorry… I shouldn't have left… But I won't rest until whoever did this is brought to justice..."

"Oh? And what do you plan to do about that, _fratello_?"

* * *

><p><em>VivaAmerica here. *peeks out from under a blanket* As you can see, I am currently scared out of my wits for Romano's sake. *shivers* 'Cat here is an amazing writer (and didn't need an editor btw) so make sure to comment!<em>

Oh look at that, Viva stole my italics… Oh well, no matter. You flatter me too much! Just because you didn't do much doesn't mean you weren't a huge help!

**I can use bold if you'd like? XD**

_Hmm, that works. XD Grazie~! And thank all you lovely readers, too! Review please~!_


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm going to kick your fucking ass," Romano growled, though he was really thinking, _Oh shit, I'mdeadI'mdeadI'mdead…_

The man who strangely looked almost exactly like his brother laughed as if reading his mind. "Really? Go ahead and try," he smirked. In the blink of an eye, he was holding a knife.

Romano's eyes widened and he backed away, looking frantically for anything he could use for a weapon. Seeing a particularly large glass shard, he practically threw himself to the ground to grab it and hastily stood back up. Tightly gripping it, he didn't even notice the sharp edge digging into his hand, so focused on the other man he was.

Veneziano's alter ego(?) advanced, smiling maliciously, "Now, _Romano,_ if you surrender and promise to do exactly what I tell you, I might let you live."

Romano, who really didn't want to die, asked, "What the hell do you want from me? A-and who are you, bastard?!"

"Language, language… I might need to cut that tongue out. I'm your brother's second player, but call me only Luciano."

"A-and you want...?"

"An oath of loyalty until death, and you will do whatever I say without questioning it or telling anyone." Luciano smirked - why was he so...smirky?- as he demanded almost exactly what the mafia did.

This reminder of how often he let the mafia get away with whatever they wanted brushed a nerve. "Like hell I will!" Romano exploded, throwing the shard in his hand at the second player.

Luciano brought his dagger up to block it, lazily, like he almost couldn't be bothered. "A shame," he murmured. "Well, this is my house now, and I can't very well let you leave alive when you could go blabbing about me."

"Ch-che?!"

Before Romano even had time to register that he was about to die, he had a knife at his throat.

"Buonanotte, bastardo~" Luciano sounded like he had been eagerly awaiting this moment since Romano walked in.

Romano closed his eyes, trying desperately not to show his fear and despair. _I'm sorry, Feliciano. I failed as your brother._

~Meanwhile~

A knock at the door startled England from his cup of tea. Was it Tuesday? He went to open the door and found himself staring into a familiar face.

"Oh, it's you, Romania," he welcomed his friend. "Come in. Would you care for some tea?"

"Yes, please," the red-eyed nation mumbled. Something was on his mind.

England poured the Romanian a steaming, pleasantly scented cup of tea. When he tried to hand it over, though, Romania was staring off into space. "Romania? Are you alright, mate?" he inquired

"Wh- oh yeah, I'm fine! Everything's great!" Romania grinned, although his smile slipped as soon as he thought England wasn't looking.

"Why are you here?" England prodded.

"I just...wanted to get out of the house, you know? Too many mirrors." Romania's house did have a surprising number of reflective surfaces, and it was well-known that he didn't like them. Why he kept them despite this dislike confused many a nation when they bothered to think about it, but some theorized that he didn't show up in mirrors because he was a vampire, and thus he kept them to scare away unwanted guests with undeniable proof that he was undead.

"I see," England murmured. Only England, Norway, and Romania himself knew the real reason for his hatred of mirrors; they brought back memories none of them wanted to think about, especially Romania.

(~_~;)

"_Oh, do take a cupcake! Just one! You know you want to," teased England's second player, a strawberry blond with unnaturally bright blue eyes._

_England struggled against his bonds as Oliver waved the platter of one dozen tantalizing cupcakes under his nose. There was no way he had gone to all the trouble of capturing him just to feed him cupcakes. No, there was certainly something nasty in them. "I don't want a bloody cupcake, or anything from you!"_

"_Aww, come on, I only put rat poison in three of them~ Oh, and two have hemlock, and five contain cyanide~" Oliver smiled a smile that could have been on a child's face, a child who could never dream of being as terrible as him. "The other two are completely safe. Choose wisely, Artie, and may the odds be ever in your favor."_

(~_~;)

No, he did not want a reminder of those memories. Not at all. And he wouldn't have envied Romania even if his own trials had been ten times worse. No wonder the other country wasn't his usual cheerful self, if that was what he was thinking about.

And so England and Romania sat, neither of them talking, but remembering things they would rather have forgotten.

* * *

><p><em>AN: …. Please don't kill me. If you kill me you will never know what happens next! But if anyone has any ideas what's coming next, leave them in a review! (xXSoul-dweller and MuddyBuddyPancakes THIS DOES NOT MEAN YOU!) I won't confirm or deny them, but I would love to hear what you think. Also, thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited and followed this! It makes my day when someone likes anything I write, especially this since it is so different from what I usually write. Happy holidays, everyone!_


	4. Chapter 4

Spain stood outside the Italians' house, feeling conflicted. _Romano might need help with his stuff, so I should go help… Or maybe he doesn't need help and he'll yell at me… _Deciding that it didn't really matter if Romano got mad - _he's so cute when he turns red like a tomato!_- he pushed open the front door and entered to make his way to the South Italian's room. At least, that was his intention until he heard what sounded like North Italy's voice, too soft to make out the words but with a hint of a threat. Driven by curiosity, he started toward it, then hesitated. He couldn't have said why, but something was wrong with this entire situation.

Maybe it was Veneziano's sudden lack of adoration for his brother, and how the friendly Italian had been acting oddly recently, especially with kicking his brother out, as Romano told him.

Maybe it was the hostile silence that the house had, compared to its normal cheerful atmosphere.

Or maybe instinct told him that his Lovi was in danger.

Whatever the reason, he felt that it would be prudent to not go defenseless. Recalling that Romano had a machine gun hidden in his closet from his mafia days, he rushed to the closet to retrieve it before heading quietly to where he heard the voice.

"Buonanotte, bastardo~" he heard a singsong voice say - it couldn't possibly be Feli!

Fearing he would be too late, he gave up all attempts at stealth and ran until he was met by the scene of Germany sprawled out in the hall in front of a bathroom, Italy crumpled on the floor in the bathroom and someone who looked just like Italy, albeit with a change of clothes, pinning Romano to the wall with a knife to his throat. Rage flooded through him as he raised the weapon.

"Step away from Lovino," he coldly demanded.

The Veneziano look-alike spun to face him, but kept the knife pressed to Romano's neck. "Oh, is he your little boy-toy? Too bad, I don't think I will."

"Spain!" Romano choked out, eyes wide. "How-" He got no further before the other man's attention was on him and he froze.

"Step away or I will shoot," Spain thundered, flames of fury in his eyes.

"Think you can kill me before I kill him?" the stranger replied. Romano cried out in pain as his blood beaded onto the blade.

"No, but you'll still be dead."

Evidently he made his seriousness clear; he barely had time to duck before the knife flew through the place where his head had been, and the strange Italian was gone as soon as he raised his head. He turned to see what happened to the knife and it had disappeared as well. He would have wondered about that if he didn't have more pressing issues to worry about at the moment.

"Roma-toma!" Spain rushed to the Italian as he sank to his knees, hyperventilating, with tears rolling down his face.

"S-Spagna… I… I nearly died..." Romano whispered. That was the last intelligible thing Spain could get out of him for a while; he sobbed into the Spaniard's shoulder for a full twenty minutes.

_What do you do for someone who's in shock? _Spain wondered.

(~_~;)

_Italy's eyes widened in fear as his captor strode into the room. Luciano, his second player, or so he called himself, liked "games", but he was never one to play nice._

"_Buon pomeriggio!" he smiled menacingly. "What shall we do today? I think we should play the knife game, don't you?"_

"_P-please...per favore...no…" Veneziano whimpered in terror._

_Ignoring Feliciano's pleas, Luciano pulled out his knife, grabbed Feli's hand, spread the fingers on the table in front of him, and started stabbing the table between the fingers. "Oh, I have all my fingers, the knife goes chop chop chop, if I miss the spaces in between my fingers will come off," he sang._

_Feliciano didn't dare pull his hand away; he had learned from experience that although the second player could play the game at great speed without even nicking a finger, he wasn't as merciful if his "plaything" didn't want to cooperate._

"_And if I hit my fingers, the blood will soon come out, but all the same I play this game 'cause that's what it's all about," Luciano continued, a smile on his face as he sped up the motion of the knife._

_Feliciano barely kept himself from crying out as the blade sliced the skin on the side of one of his fingers, but Luciano caught his whimper and smirked, "Are we having fun yet?"_

_Italy wouldn't remember the dream when he awoke; he never did, although the reason was something more than simple forgetfulness. That didn't matter; right then, nothing was real but the man and the knife that tormented him._

* * *

><p><em>AN: Merry Christmas. Romano isn't dead. Italy isn't dead either. Spain apparently got the ability to read the mood. Germany… Well, that remains to be seen._

**VivaAmerica here! Happy Holidays everyone! As themusicalcat often says, I didn't do much in the way of editing. **

_Peace of mind, Viva. You've said it yourself, have you not?_

***chuckles* Tis true. Show your love and leave a review…. And pray for these poor nations… **

_Oh, and go check out Viva's story Christmas Kisses! It's adorable! And my story Tis the Season to be Italian…? is much more lighthearted than this. Can't go depressing people on Christmas, now, can I? Don't answer that._

***whispers* A Christmas Carol… **

… _Anyway, have a happy holiday season~! Arrivederci until next time!_


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